


Behind the lines

by ohrion



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Guard!Blake, M/M, Prisoner!Bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohrion/pseuds/ohrion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Blake is a new guard at Gotham Prison. Bane is the prison’s most infamous inmate who happens to look exactly like all of John’s fantasies combined into one huge, hulking man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the lines

The warden leads him down the row of cells, reading off the inmates’ identity numbers from a little notebook. He hardly glances at the book, though he taps it on each cell’s bars, and John wonders whether he needs it at all or if it’s just to remind the inmates that they are nothing more than a string of digits now.

The inmates, predictably, make a lot of noise over John.

It’s evening and the cells are mostly dark but the men press right up to the bars as they walk along. John lets the whistles and leering wash over him. When one of the men thrusts a hand between the bars of his cell to grab at John’s starched white shirt, he snaps the man’s wrist.

The warden looks away pointedly, but John catches the twitch of his lips.

They pause in front of one of the last cells and John notices the warden doesn’t check the list this time. There’s no face waiting at the bars either, no remarks about John’s mouth or how he’d look without his uniform. At first John thinks the cell is empty but when he comes to stand in front of the bars he catches movement on the bed.

There’s a man lying face down, but it’s hard to make out much more in the dark. He’s moving though, with soft grunting sounds, and John thinks he might be injured; he glances at the warden who just looks into the cell impassively. Maybe this is a trick the inmate has pulled before? 

“23175,” the warden says.

John can see the outline of his body now and fuck, he’s absolutely huge. John’s mouth goes dry. Muscles shift and slide across a wide expanse of skin as he completes slow press ups on the bed and John’s eyes drag down the man’s back until dark cargo pants cover his lower body.

The warden doesn’t say his name. He doesn’t need to.

Like every trainee at the academy, John has heard of Bane. He’s heard the stories of Bane’s capture, how it took ten guards to wrestle him into cuffs and how, even now, locked up in here, he’s Gotham’s most dangerous man. What the academy failed to mention was that Bane has a body that looks like it came straight out of John’s deepest fantasies.

The back of his head is mostly covered with a black strap that looks like it runs down over his face and jaw. John catches snippets of the warden’s explanation, something about “induced unconsciousness” and “necessary force”. 

Bane just ignores them as he carries on his routine. He looks like he could go on for days at the same steady pace. John has never got aroused so quickly.

“Blake,” the warden calls from the next cell.

John realises he’s staring and hurries to catch up.

The occupants of the remaining cells are more like the other inmates, mouthy and, to John’s relief, normal-sized. He hardly hears their numbers; he’s too busy trying to surreptitiously wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants.

The warden lets him take a bathroom break before showing him the next row of cells. John splashes cold water over his face from the chipped enamel sink and forces his hard on away. 

It comes back in full force that night and John can’t help imagining being pressed down by Bane’s huge arms, crushed under his solid weight, as Bane fucks him relentlessly into the mattress.

 

+

 

John spends the next few days shadowing one of the other guards. Simon is thirty, has a wife at home and a new baby girl. He doesn’t talk much and he tells John nothing about Bane other than he’s the most dangerous man in the prison.

John wishes that this piece of information didn’t encourage his late night fantasies of Bane.

John’s first task alone comes in his second week when he is put on search duty. Basically, he gets to go through the contents of each cell while the inmates are working their afternoon shift. He’s looking for anything that isn’t on the approved list if cell contents. It’s a very short list.

It’s pretty clear that whoever has been on search duty before John didn’t give a shit, because within the first few cells, John’s already got three packs of cigarettes, a stash of white powder and two knives in his collection bag. He leaves the porn magazines behind; he’s not a complete bastard.

The only cell that’s clean is Bane’s. For some reason, this pisses him off and John spends a few extra minutes taking apart the small desk that’s fastened to the wall, determined to find something. He ignores the bed completely, tries not to think of Bane lying there, the metal frame creaking under his solid bulk.

There is a drawer on the underside of the desk and when John’s hand hits something far inside it, he feels a thrill up his spine. His fingers close around it—small, plastic and light—and he pulls his hand out to find an unmarked bottle in his palm. His first instinct is drugs, then medication because of the mask, before he finally realises what he’s holding. 

Bane keeps a bottle of lube in his cell. 

And, oh God, John’s mind replays those images of Bane on his bed, only now he’s on his back with one big hand curled around his cock, glistening with lube as he strokes himself with the same calm, unrelenting dedication as if he were doing press ups. 

John’s stomach tightens. He can’t allow himself to get distracted. He is supposed to record what he finds and write this in a report, for fuck’s sake.

The shadows shift around him and John spins around to see Bane standing in the cell’s entrance. His body blocks out the entire exit. John feels like the room has tilted and somehow Bane’s standing on the side that’s tipped up and John’s side has dropped down. 

“Cell search,” John says. He clears his throat, ignoring the way his whole body has tightened up just from Bane’s presence. Fuck this, he’s in charge here. He thrusts out the bottle. “What are you doing with this?”

Bane’s gaze flicks to John’s hand and back. His expression, what John can see of it behind the straps of his mask, doesn’t change.

“I had imagined you would know the answer to that. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

His voice is refined and almost soft, even with the slight mechanical edge from the mask. He speaks slowly, maybe to make sure John understands, but the inflection in his tone is all wrong and this tips John off balance even more. His heart hammers against his ribs. 

Bane tilts his head, considers him.

“Or perhaps you would like to find out.”

“No,” John snaps, but his chest is too tight and it comes out weak.

“No, you do know what it is for? Or no, you do not want to find out?” Bane asks and now John can hear amusement in his voice.

Bane moves forward and John’s breathing hitches. Even under the black t-shirt, John can make out the shape of muscles spanning his chest, tensing and relaxing as he walks. The fabric stretches over his shoulders and stomach. Jesus Christ, his biceps are as thick as John’s legs.

John’s cock pushes solidly against his pants. He resolutely doesn’t shift, but something must show on his face because Bane’s eyes crinkle in an unmistakable smirk.

Bane stands in front of John and while he’s not that much taller, the breadth of him makes John feel completely boxed in. Bane could pin him against the wall easily and John has to tell himself he absolutely does not want that. 

Bane takes the bottle from John’s hand and John has to clench his jaw to keep silent when he feels Bane’s skin against his fingers. He hasn’t actually given consent. This is… prisoner brutality or sexual harassment at the very least. John could probably get Bane locked in solitary confinement for this.

Bane flips open the bottle.

John watches as the liquid spills over Bane’s thick fingers and the last of his resolve crumbles. He wants this, wants Bane, but he feels stupid just standing there; he’s usually a lot more involved in proceedings than this, but John honestly doesn’t know what to do. Bane doesn’t look like he’s big on foreplay and kissing is obviously out. 

Bane presses one hand against John’s cock through his clothes and John gasps, bucking forward into Bane’s palm and thrusting against his fingers. Fuck, his hands are huge, they almost completely cover John’s length, and if John weren’t so utterly turned on, he’d probably be self-conscious about that.

Bane increases the pressure and John stumbles backward. His hits the wall hard and it jerks him into action. Fuck this, John is not going to stand here like a terrified virgin and let Bane feel him up. He pushes Bane’s hand out the way and fumbles with his belt and then the buttons on his pants, wondering hysterically what the warden would say if he put in a request for pants with easier access.

He’s hopping on one foot, trying to shimmy out of his pants when Bane loses patience. One hand grabs John under the arm and he just hoists John up in the air, pulling his pants and underwear down in one go. John’s legs wrap around Bane of their own accord, calves catching on the various pockets of Bane’s cargo pants, and, Jesus, the man is wide.

“Okay,” John pants when he’s safely pinned between Bane’s body and the wall, “okay, a little warning next—”

Bane’s finger finds John’s ass and presses in. It’s cold and rough and John cries out, half choking. Bane hikes up John’s shirt, so John’s cock is pinned between their stomachs. It’s rock hard now and John’s hands grab Bane’s shoulders as his whole body shakes. 

It hurts but Bane keeps sliding his finger in and out, letting John get used to the feel of it, until John is rocking back into him on every stoke, trying to tell Bane that he can take this. He can take more.

Bane gets the hint and pushes another finger into John’s hole. It burns and stretches him, but the feeling of being filled outweighs the pain and John moans. This is exactly what he needs, to have his body taken and used by someone while John can only cling on. His head falls forward and he sobs against Bane’s thick neck.

John realizes he’s clinging onto Bane, both hands scrunched tightly in his t-shirt. He lets go, slowly slipping his hands beneath the neck of Bane’s t-shirt. Bane’s body is rock solid and John hopes to God he didn’t actually whimper. He can feel the bumpy trail of hundreds of small scars on Bane’s skin and he drags his nails over them. Bane growls, twisting his fingers inside John, and John does it again.

There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea: Bane’s dangerous and John really can’t afford to get fired from this job, but he can’t stop now. He needs this; all the times he’s touched himself picturing Bane is nothing compared to having the man real, breathing and grunting sharply through the mask, in front of him now.

Bane twists another finger in and John cries out, pushing his face further into Bane’s neck to muffle the sound. His body feels wrung out already and he hasn’t even come yet. But Bane keeps stroking him and suddenly his fingers drag across John’s prostate and his body lights up. John squirms and Bane presses his body impossibly closer against the wall and does it again.

John can’t breathe. Bane keeps stroking and prodding at the tight bundle of nerves and John’s body hitches and spasms in response. He feels drops of precome smear against his stomach from where his cock is still trapped between them and John desperately ruts against Bane. His ass clenches around Bane’s fingers and he feels the beginning of his orgasm as he mouths against Bane’s neck and, with a sudden roaring in his ears, he sees black.

He comes back to his body with his hand shoved down Bane’s t-shirt and a sticky mess sliding down his stomach and chest. Bane’s still holding him up and John’s ass is empty. He wriggles slightly, trying to get blood flow back in his legs and Bane’s hard on pokes him in the thigh.

Maybe John was wrong about the foreplay thing.

He opens his mouth to say as much before he can think better of it, but Bane is moving away, lowering him to the wall. John slips down to the floor immediately. He looks up helplessly. What the hell is he supposed to do now? The academy hadn’t had a training session for this.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bane says calmly. John has no idea whether he’s referring to right now or his life in prison in general. 

“You—you haven’t…” John stutters, gesturing vaguely at Bane’s crotch.

He wonders quickly whether this was part of a plan on Bane’s part: get John off and then demand something in return for Bane’s silence. Then he wonders whether Bane actually doesn’t want to fuck him and feels guilty as shit when he realises he hopes it’s the first option.

“I imagined you would want to use protection,” Bane says.

There is a pause and then John is angrily pushing himself up from the floor—he gets as far as kneeling before he gives up—because yes, obviously he would want to use condoms, and John does not need Bane, who apparently has so much sex he needs to keep lube in his cell, to tell him this.

“You’ve spent a lot of time imagining what I do and don’t know about sex,” John snaps.

“You have only been here one week,” Bane points out in his maddeningly calm voice. But then he’s unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his cock, and, yeah, it’s about as big and thick and mouth-watering as John imagined.

He takes a few strokes and John’s head automatically moves forward. He wants to suck the tip, lick it at least, when Bane catches his chin in one hand and tilts his head back. For a second John thinks that Bane is going to ram his cock down John’s throat, and yes he’s on board with that, but Bane angles John’s head further up so he’s practically looking at the ceiling. 

He feels rather than sees Bane’s fist pumping his cock and John makes choked noise in his throat that probably sounded exactly as desperate as he feels right now. 

Bane growls and John realises he’s going to come just as the first streaks hit his neck and chin. The fingers on his jaw loosen slightly and John twists his head, tries to move so the fingers are near his mouth. Bane just growls again when John manages to suck the tips of two fingers between his lips. 

More of Bane’s release lands on his ear and the bit of his shoulder that’s exposed where his shirt has been pulled to the side. He can feel it slowly slip down past his collar bone and he has a weird, vivid fantasy of Bane gently washing it off.

He blinks up, panting around Bane’s fingers.

Bane seems content to let John get himself together, just watching and waiting with his fingers heavy on John’s tongue. Bane is the most dangerous man in the prison, John reminds himself, but right now his presence is more reassuring than anything else. He wonders vaguely whether he's just made his job a hell of a lot easier of harder for himself. Eventually, Bane steps back and John gets slowly to his feet.

John pulls on his clothes, hands shaking like he’s just dodged a bullet. Bane sits on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide, and watches John collect himself.

It takes him three attempts to get all the buttons done up on his pants and he gives up with the belt loops and just buckles it tightly around his hips. He knows he must look a complete state but he stuffs his shirt into his pants anyway, trying to ignore the uncomfortable scratching where the cheap material rubs against the drying come streaked over his skin. 

But even in this weird aftershock, hovering somewhere between exhausted and disbelieving, John feels good. His body is relaxed, sated, and the dull ache in his legs and ass is satisfying. 

“Some of the men return early in the afternoon,” Bane says. John looks at him blankly and he swears Bane almost sighs. Bane gestures to the desk. “You should be quicker in your task.”

“Okay. Ah, thanks.”

John pauses for a second in case Bane feels like giving out any more advice, but Bane has gone back to staring at John. He walks away as steadily as he can, already planning a trip to what is quickly becoming his regular bathroom stop after seeing Bane, locking the cell door after him.

He leaves the lube behind.


End file.
